Harry Potter and the Gaining of Power
by Chalybs Levitas
Summary: Harry dies in the Chamber of Secrets, and finds a reason to change. Alternate universe, rated M for violence in later chapters.
1. Prologue and Chapter One

~~~~~ Prologue ~~~~~

The adults in the house flinched as their enemy's powerful magic battered at the wards they had erected to protect their home. The father faced the fell presence, "Will he be safe?"

The mother sighed in frustration. "I haven't had enough time. I still need to finish the array and apply a healing charm." She bit her lip, green eyes shining in concern. She turned to her husband, biting the inside of her cheek. "And … I don't want to hurt Harry. I know this will. What if he hates me for this?"

The man smiled at his wife, "It will be all right, Lily." He was a fairly tall man, with unruly black hair that always looked like he'd just been flying. "Harry is a very smart kid." He brushed a lock of his wife's hair back from her face, kissing her forehead. "And I'll buy you the time you need."

Lily swallowed her tears as her husband left the nursery to confront the scourge of Britain at the door. She turned back to her son, selecting a brush and inkpot from the table, and returned to work. She babbled at her child, "Your father is a truly great man, Harry. We've never been able to take Him on, but he's always been right there. I've always been right there with him, you know? This one time, we were partnered with the Longbottoms when He attacked Diagon and—"The final ward breaking stopped her hand and her mouth.

She finished painting the runes and equations the spell would require in grim silence, then set aside inkpot and brush. Picking up her child, she soothed, "This will hurt, my most precious, but it will keep you safe. I hope you understand." She picked up a knife that she had bought weeks before. It was plain, made of a silver alloy, and completely devoid of magic. Lily Potter, once Evans, placed the tip of the blade to her child's forehead and made three straight cuts.

"Solid stone, borne of the mountain, carried by the dragon."

_"Seal the mind, body, and heart together, feel the rush of life."_

_**"The bargain seals the world; a mortal's honor, a god's bind."**_

The lines and diagrams she had spent hours meticulously painting and double-checking collapsed. The pulled together to center on her baby's forehead, wrapping inside the broken skin and sitting there, placid until activated. Her wand leapt to her hand, and Lily Potter healed her son's wound, leaving only a scar. She returned her son to his cradle, marveling that he did not cry. He only looked up at her with eyes that matched her own.

She leaned forward and kissed her son's forehead, cooing, "What a brave boy you are, Harry." She then pinned her own tongue between her fingers and held it in place. While she carved her own tongue with the knife, a simple lightning-bolt shape to mirror her son's, Harry whined at her. She placed the knife to one side and turned to face the monster that was sure to be coming.

The sounds of battle downstairs had ceased. For a moment, she had hope; her hopes failed when He walked through the door of the nursery. He was wreathed in an aura of power, his skin nearly glowing, his wand vibrating with the force of his magic. For a moment, the plan was in danger; for a moment, Lily Potter found herself quite unable to speak. Then he spoke, a hissing, malicious tone that every witch and wizard alive feared.

"Step aside, woman, and I will allow you to live. I am only here for your child."

Finding her courage, she spoke. The desperation and fear in her voice did not have to be feigned. The man was simply too powerful for anything but terror to permeate her mind. She screamed, desperately stepping between her son and the darkest wizard in a century, "Not Harry, please! Take me instead, let Harry live!" Now, if only he would act like they predicted. This was it, the hinge around which her plans were built. Her only chance.

"Very well, I accept," Voldemort chuckled, "Now stand still so that I may murder you."

Lily didn't bother to dodge the blast of green light. She didn't scream as she fell, despite the pain that came with the curse. As her soul separated from her body, her magic core destabilized, pouring through the rune carved into her tongue and into the most complex spell anyone had cast in three generations. Her last thoughts were smug; her most precious baby boy would never be harmed by Voldemort's hand.

A green-eyed baby with a lightning-bolt scar and a pale man wrapped in dark robes stared impassively into each other's eyes over the corpse of the most brilliant witch of her generation. Voldemort saw no thoughts in the child's eyes, nor any emotions in its mind. The Dark Lord shifted his grip on his yew wand, raising it so that the tip aimed just above the boy's head. His emotions whorled about behind the barriers he had erected to organize and protect his mind. Each was kept separate from the others, and all were walled off from his sense of self. He kept them from touching each other, and when they formed, he funneled them immediately into their proper chamber. He only touched them when he decided they would further his goals, and thought himself wiser than any of his peers. With a flick of intent, he accessed the most potent, the one he had charged with motes of Dark Magic through hundreds of rituals intended to enhance his power.

Hatred flooded Voldemort's mind; his face twisted to reveal his revulsion and disgust. Voldemort whispered the one spell that had always come easier to him than any other. With a flash of brilliant, shining green, his world ended. Voldemort floated in darkness, bewildered and unable to see. The only thing he could hear was his own voice, echoing the words of a mistake he did not understand.

_Avada Kedavra._

~~~~~ Chapter One ~~~~~

Harry's mouth felt dry as he stood before a massive set of doors, alone. His friends had been torn from him, Hermione by the basilisk and the monster in the chamber now, and Ron by the rockslide and the monster using his wand. Harry knew all about monsters, having been raised by some, and was starting to hate them. He wondered, idly, if he was a monster, too.

It didn't matter, so he put it from his mind and hissed at the door. The words felt odd on his tongue. In primary, the teachers had attempted to teach him German, but the words had felt thick and clipped. They were impossible to pronounce, and he'd never really put much effort into anyway. He'd never learned a word. Parseltongue felt entirely different. Before he'd been made aware of it, it felt much like English had, natural. Now, it felt like every syllable was a polished stone from a river, smooth and easy. Just the right size to fit on his tongue and slide between his teeth like it was the most natural thing. English felt dull in comparison; though he had no troubles with it, it didn't taste like anything.

The doors opened smoothly, and Harry hurried into the Chamber. The ceiling lay so far above him that it was lost in shadows; in fact, no part of the place wasn't lost in darkness. The corners of the room seemed eaten away so thoroughly that they might as well not have existed. At the far end of the Chamber stood the stern, stone visage of Salazar Slytherin. At his carven feet lay Ginny Weasley, her hair spread out like a halo, her skin pale, and her body still. Fear gripped his heart, and Harry rushed forward to save her, heedless of his wand falling from his nerveless fingers.

Harry reached her quickly, and feared for a moment that she wasn't breathing. He saw a slight shiver of her chest, and carefully placed a hand over her mouth; she still drew breath. There was a sound of footsteps behind him, and Harry whirled to meet the threat, only to try brandishing a wand he no longer held.

Things didn't really go well, from that point. A tall boy, fair of skin and countenance, dark of hair, introduced himself as Tom Marvolo Riddle, and revealed that "I am Lord Voldemort." Harry remembered seeing the memories Tom had shown him through an enchanted diary, and some lingering sentiment about the way Tom had seemed so nice kept intruding in Harry's mind. Harry's thoughts kept stuttering and skipping, and he felt dull and stupid.

When Tom lashed out at him, snarling the killing curse, Harry barely scrambled out of the way. The pale green light of the curse splashed harmlessly against the stone bricks of the Chamber floor, and Tom called out to the Basilisk hidden in the Chamber. With a slow grating noise, its hidden compartment in the statue of Salazar Slytherin opened, and the great beast poured from its mouth, landing with a massive thump on the base of the Chamber. While Harry took refuge behind one of the handy pillars, Tom instructed, _"You smell the boy, kill him. Do not eat the body, I have use of it,"_ and taunted, "I don't know what fluke spared you before, but you'll never see another day, boy! I'll kill you, I'll take every last drop of life from this fool girl, and I'll make Britain tremble at my coming once more!"

A small spark of defiance flared in Harry's chest, and he called back, as he dodged away from the basilisk and behind another pillar, careful to keep his eyes down, "I don't care, Tom! I defy you, Dumbledore defies you, and the other you is nothing but a wretched shade fleeing from the sunlight! It doesn't matter what you try, or what threats you make; there will always be someone who stands against you!" In that moment, a fanfare sounded. It seemed to come from a hundred unseen trumpets, and a great blaze roared into being in the cavernous ceiling of the Chamber. From it poured an immense light, which banished every shadow in the chamber. Harry had to close his eyes and turn his head away, lest he be blinded.

The light faded after only a moment, but the fanfare did not. Its source swooped down on crimson wings, effortlessly dodging the hexes and curses flung at it by an enraged Riddle. Harry heard the basilisk hiss at it as the phoenix swooped past the snake's head, the wordless fury clear in Harry's ears. Its feathers shone in every shade of red Harry could imagine, and his heart lifted in hope at its song. A quiet sound like an enchanted hat several centuries old hitting the floor drew Harry's attention to where the phoenix had dropped the several centuries old, enchanted, Sorting Hat.

"Fawkes," Harry tried to cry out in joy, or entreaty, or something, but nothing emerged save a croak. It swooped away, its song changing from joyous fanfare to a righteous war song. Harry peered around the pillar to see Fawkes the Phoenix swooping about the basilisk's head, dodging blasts of light from Riddle as well as lunges from the basilisk. He turned his attention back to the Hat, and recalled the last words he had heard Dumbledore speak. _Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it._

With no wand, against Voldemort and a basilisk, Harry felt he had no choice but to grasp this moment of inspiration with both hands. He jammed the tattered hat on his head and cried out with all his mind, _HELP!_ A solid object smacked against his head with enough force to make his eyes water, his knees shake, and his grip on consciousness waver. Harry pulled the hat from his head and reached in to grasp the offending object.

The object was too long to have fit in the Hat, and too heavy for Harry to hold comfortably. As Harry gripped the cold, hard, metal cylinder and pulled, the Hat fell away to the floor. The blade shone brilliantly, despite the dismal lighting. The sounds of the basilisk and phoenix slowly drew Harry's attention from the sword that was nearly as long as his leg, and sharper than anything he had ever seen before.

Harry turned to the battle in the same moment as the great snake turned to face him. He didn't have even a second to try and close his eyes, but the gaping wounds where once had been the dreaded gaze of the king of serpents rendered the need moot. Harry stepped out from behind the pillars, Riddle's form hidden by the snake's coils. Riddle's hissed instructions made Harry gulp, but he lifted the great blade before him with trembling arms even has he heard the older boy order his death, _"Forget the bird, you foolish serpent, I'll drive it off! You can still smell the boy! Kill him! Kill him!"_

The serpent lunged forward, and Harry shoved the blade forward with all his might. The basilisk's strike drove the blade deep into the roof of its own mouth, and it reared back in agony, and began thrashing about. The sword wrenched from Harry's grip as the basilisk pulled away. One of the flailing coils blindsided him, and flung him into the stone pillar nearest Riddle.

The ache spreading across Harry's back was nothing compared to the searing pain in his arm. He looked down and saw the end of a basilisk fang poking out of his arm. The chamber began to blur around him, and he desperately fumbled at the fang with steadily numbing fingers. He couldn't move his right arm at all, and his left lacked the strength to remove the fang. The pain was immense, and it only got worse as the entire world faded to a hazy grey. He was too far gone to notice the flash of pale green light that impacted his body moments after his sense of where he was got washed away by the grey creeping into his vision.

That consuming grey receded as his agony did, slowly, leaving Harry floating in a dark void. His school clothes were gone, replaced by some of the worst of Dudley's castoffs; those dangling fabrics had been shredded at some point, leaving Harry in little more than dirty rags. Worried, Harry cast about for some sign of where to go, only to discover that there were no landmarks. There wasn't even any land.

The only thing he saw was that one side of the void was slightly less dark than the other, so he headed in that direction. It felt like hours passed, but he eventually came upon a massive wall. Since he was floating in endless nothingness, Harry attempted to float over the wall, only to find that he could not. Whether the wall matched his pace perfectly or he lacked the ability to move up or down, Harry couldn't decide.

To his left, Harry saw a shape jutting from the wall. There being nothing to his right, Harry went for it. Harry arrived to find a massive gate blocked by doors of solid wood and barred by shining grey metal. The shape he had seen from afar were two columns bordering the gate. Chained to each was a human Harry recognized; whoever they were, they looked just like Harry, though with slightly different features.

Chained to the left pillar was a Harry with slightly darker skin, anger burning in his killing curse green eyes, protruding tusks, and a horned bone ridge for a brow. Chained to the right pillar was a Harry with pale gold skin and glowing blue tracks following the course of tears down his cheeks. Each was gagged by the silver chains that bound them. Harry immediately floated over to the one on the right pillar. "Don't worry, I'll get you out," Harry asserted confidently, already struggling with the binding chains.

The instant the chain had cleared the teeth of the golden Harry, it spoke, "You'll never get us free that way; we're bound here by a spell. The spell will exist for as long as you depend in any way on the Dursleys." Harry blinked, opened his mouth, closed it, and blinked again.

"So I can leave them, and free you from this at the same time?" Harry blurted, excited.

The golden him nodded solemnly, "Yes, but do not think it would be wonderful. The spell that keeps the two of us bound here also keeps a multitude of dangers away from you. If you reject the Dursleys formally and utterly, and leave them never to return, the spell will break. We will be free, but there are those that wish you harm. They would also be freed of the restrictions that keep them from you."

The chains began to reform, growing piece by piece across the golden him's mouth once more, as he tried to explain fully, "If, knowing this, you still move to free us, you must know that the break must be total. If you go back before the chains have broken wholly, they will reform at full strength. I feel compelled to note that my counterpart," here, the being jerked his head at the other pillar, "would suggest that you kill the Dursleys, to prevent that from happening."

Harry gaped at the figure in front of him, then glanced at the one chained on the other side of the gate. He began to protest the need for killing, only to be distracted by the sound of music swelling around him. He cocked his head to one side, listening. The golden him tried to say something, but was muffled by the chains that had fully grown back to gag him once again. Harry turned away from the wall, trying to find the source of the music.

The void receded, the wall behind him resolving into a pillar against which his body rested. The cavernous chamber resonated with Tom's maniacal laughter. Tom stood over Ginny's body, gloating to the giant statue of Salazar Slytherin that he had triumphed, and would soon re-conquer Britain.

Trying to move only his eyes, Harry glanced over at his wound. The basilisk fang stuck out of his arm and Fawkes, that beautiful red bird, was crying on it. Recalling Dumbledore's words earlier that year, Harry understood why he had survived. He reached up and grasped the fang with trembling, numb fingers. With a definitive yank, Harry pulled the fang from his arm. The wound quickly closed up, soaked as it was in the healing phoenix tears.

Harry ignored Tom's crazed laughter, focusing on the diary lying between him and Ginny. It had housed the memory of Tom Riddle that now gloated in a chamber with a giant dead snake, it poisoned Ginny's mind, and it seemed to be at the center of this mess. The sword might be lodged in the mouth of a giant snake, but he had a pointy, poisonous fang in his hand right now.

Harry did the only thing he could think of. Harry lunged, startling Tom from his soliloquy about how great he was, and Harry drove the fang through the cursed thing as hard as he could. Ink welled up like blood and a shrill scream filled the air, coming from both Tom and the Diary at once. The screams faded into silence and Tom vanished. The sound of Harry's wand clattering to the floor echoed in the vast chamber, but Harry lay there, panting, hoping that he hadn't been too late, or acted too rashly.

Fawkes landed on Harry's shoulder and crooned at him. The aches and the exhaustion faded a little, and Harry levered himself up, swaying slightly, and turned to the basilisk. It was massive, older than Harry could comprehend, and bound to the will of Tom Riddle. Harry felt a pang of sadness for its death, but repressed it as best he could. It had done its best to kill one of his best friends and one of the people who were the closest thing to family he had, after all.

Stepping around the massive bulk to the thing's mouth, Harry gripped the hilt of the sword and tried to remove it from the snake's gaping maw. It didn't budge, and Harry hardly felt like trying to force the matter while in the mouth of one of the most potently venomous snakes in existence. It just seemed like a bad idea. Instead, he retrieved his wand, tore off a piece of his robe to wrap up the diary and fang, and stumbled over to Ginny.

She seemed smaller than he remembered, even with her hair fanned out behind her head like a great halo. She was pale, so much so that he imagined for a moment he could see straight through her. Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to gently rouse her, but she did not respond. Harry placed a hand against her cheek. She wasn't as cold as he'd feared, but still seemed only lukewarm.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

One of Ginny's earliest memories was sitting by the hearth on Christmas day as the whole Weasley family buzzed in its busy, happy brand of chaos, all talking over each other and exclaiming in joy over their presents and generally showing each other that they all cared.

That warmth seemed to settle into her now, flowing from a gentle touch on her cheek to banish the terrible creeping emptiness that filled her. Her eyes fluttered open, hoping to answer the confusion in her heart. Surely, she didn't deserve such warmth? It felt like a gift from heaven, and she had unleashed a basilisk upon the school and Tom upon the world. She could not imagine ever deserving that warmth and comfort again.

Her gaze was first drawn, as it always was, to his eyes. Harry had the most brilliant eyes she'd ever seen. They were the color and hardness of emeralds, but they always seemed to glow with muted warmth, like the sun behind a bank of clouds. "Harry?" the gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it. He crouched over her in the Chamber, where Tom had told her she would die and rot.

A _phoenix_ rode on his shoulder, glowing brightly in the darkness of the Chamber. His normally unruly hair was matted and flat, his whole upper body smeared with blood. The sleeves of his robes had ripped, and she could see a large angry red mark on his arm. He beamed at her, his happiness washing over her like a balm, and removed his hand. For a moment, the world seemed dark and cold again.

"I'm glad you're all right, I was worried that I hadn't come in time," the sound of his voice banished the cold. His concern was evident, and it warmed her heart. He had come to save _her_. She sat up, slowly, and looked around. His hands were stained black with what appeared to be ink, but she couldn't see the diary anywhere. Seeing her look, he explained, "It's here. I destroyed it, and, with it, Tom." He held up his left hand, displaying something wrapped in cloth and vaguely book-shaped.

She saw past him. The basilisk lay still, blood slowly pooling beneath its mouth. Now she knew where the blood on his head and arms had come from. Tears began welling in her eyes. Had he risked so much, just to save her? Why would he do that, when she was the one who had done all those horrible things? Her voice skipped and jump and broke as she babbled the truth of the matter to him, apologizing for everything.

He just stood there. His words seemed fair and reassuring; he told her he didn't blame her. She could see better, though. He couldn't even bring himself to touch her or look her in the eye. She had never felt so wretched. If only she had remembered her father's advice; if only she hadn't trusted the diary when she could not see where it kept its brain.

Then maybe Harry wouldn't be so disgusted with her. Maybe he wouldn't, even now, be shying away from her and looking away. She fixed her eyes on the ground, where they belonged. Disgust pooled in her stomach. She was a vile, foolish creature, and she didn't deserve even the false warmth Harry turned her way. Ginny's resolve hardened. She would become worthy of him. Whatever it took, she would be absolutely faithful to the Boy-Who-Lived, and she would make herself worthy of him; she would remake herself utterly if that was what it took.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

Harry felt helpless. She was clearly miserable, but there was little he could do, even though he knew she wasn't responsible at all for this tragedy. Maybe Ron could help her. As it was, his whole body cried out for relief. Even if he could bring himself to hug her or otherwise give her the comfort she clearly required, he hurt so much he doubted he could keep from sobbing if she touched him. He coaxed her to follow him, despite the handicap of not wanting to touch anything, leading her past the snake and down the tunnels to the cave-in. Fawkes pecked him in the head, making sure he didn't forget the Hat.

Harry was exhausted, he'd never been so tired before, but he made sure not to stumble or falter. Even with people as nice as the Weasleys seemed, he knew that to show weakness would damn him. It was a lesson the Dursleys had taught early. Show weakness, and the world would hammer at it until he broke. The only place it was at all safe to show any pain was in the care of Madam Pomfrey, and that only because she was oath-bound to keep his secrets. She'd given the oath right in front of him, that very first night, when he refused to tell her whether or not he hurt. He'd seen the glow, and Hermione had helped him look up magical oaths and contracts.

They arrived at the cave-in to find that Ron had cleared out a hole large enough for them to crawl through. Lockhart smiled vacantly and waved at them, but they ignored him.

"How are we gettin' out, Harry?" Ron wanted to know, glancing nervously at the slime-covered chute.

Harry shrugged, "I don't know. If we had a broom, I could ferry us out one at a time, but while I might be able to crawl up and go fetch it, I don't really want to leave you lot alone with him." Harry nodded at Lockhart.

Fawkes trilled at them, falling off Harry's shoulder to glide around them, herding them closer together. He cried out, and the world dissolved into flame, surrounding them and covering them. When the fires cleared, they found themselves standing before the gargoyles that guarded Dumbledore's office. "Could you tell them that we've found Ginny, please?" Harry requested politely, and the gargoyle tilted its head as though thinking.

After a moment, the gargoyle stepped aside, revealing the staircase to the Headmaster's office. Harry led the others up, then stepped through the door opening smoothly before them. Mrs. Weasley hurried forward and wrapped him, Ron, and Ginny up in a swooping embrace that had Harry flinching and trying to escape. Professor McGonagall stood in front of the Headmaster's desk and Headmaster Dumbledore sat behind it. His face pale but relieved, Mr. Weasley sat by the fire.

Before too long, the children had been released and ushered inside by adults very curious as to _how_, exactly, they had come to find Ginny and be so covered in muck. Fawkes soared across the room to his perch while Mrs. Weasley surreptitiously cast a few cleaning charms on herself. Harry told the story, starting with them visiting Hermione in the Hospital Wing. Harry threw a grateful glance to Professor McGonagall for her part in that visit.

He told the adults how they'd found the note in her hand, then heard about the new attack, and how they had overheard the professors tell Professor Lockhart to go searching, explaining that since time was of the essence, they'd gone right to him with that information. He told them of their intuition that the entrance was in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and how they'd opened the entrance. Professor Lockhart looked shocked when he heard that he'd tried to obliviate his students and take credit for killing the basilisk.

Ron broke in and explained about the backfiring wand and the cave-in. He told his mom how he'd asked Harry to push on alone while he tried to clear a path. Mrs. Weasley looked torn between being upset that Harry had been alone and proud that both boys had done so well in such a bad situation.

Harry stopped talking when he reached the entrance of the chamber, looking supremely uncomfortable. Luckily (for him), the Headmaster's fire turned bright green and Lucius Malfoy strode through, clothes disheveled and covered in ash. His shoes were half-shined and his hair was slightly less immaculate than usual. Dobby the house-elf bobbed around him, desperately trying to finish fixing his master's appearance while simultaneously avoiding getting in the man's way. Lucius's words were cold and hard, "Dumbledore. What are you doing back here? The board kicked you out. Unanimously."

Dobby caught Harry's eyes while Dumbledore reassured the Governor that he had the board's full support in returning. The house-elf pointed to the diary in Harry's hands, then at Malfoy, then hit himself in the head. The third repition of this, Harry's eyes widened, then he turned to narrow them at Malfoy, a plan slowly forming from the frothing rage in his mind.


	2. Chapter Two

~~~~~ Chapter Two ~~~~~

The blood froze in Dumbledore's veins as Harry interrupted Lucius Malfoy with a voice formed of ice and an edge of steel. He'd heard exactly those tones before, shortly before his dear Gellert fell irredeemably into darkness, and again when Tom had returned from abroad unrecognizable and began utterly destroying those around him. Lucius's smug query about the attacks stopped in its tracks.

"As I was saying, _sir_. I opened the doors to the Chamber, where I found Ginny lying unconscious among the skeletons of small animals in the middle of a room as large as the Great Hall." Dumbledore had to admit, the boy cut an impressive figure. His robes may have been torn, but he stood ramrod-straight and the generous coating of blood did _absolutely nothing_ to lessen the intimidating aura that seemed to boil from him.

The boy's eyes had always seemed so warm to Dumbledore, but now he could not help but remember all the battles he'd experienced in Voldemort's Rise. Those eyes reminded him of nothing more than Riddle's own Killing Curse. Dumbledore almost missed it when young Harry lifted a small object wrapped in a piece of his own robe. "This was lying nearby. When I tried to rouse her, a spirit manifested, calling itself Tom Riddle. It had somehow stolen my wand. With it, it performed a charm to make the letters of its name appear in the air. Tom Marvolo Riddle. It then rearranged those letters to form a single phrase.

"I am Lord Voldemort."

Everyone in the room flinched, save Malfoy, who paled considerably. Professor McGonagall hiccupped, then asked to see his wand. A curious look flashed across the boy's face before he calmly handed it over, flipping it so that she could take the handle. She gently turned it over, tapped it with her own wand and muttered _"piror incantato."_

Spells began squeezing their way out the tip of Harry's wand. The first was a ghostly image of Harry, which smirked and disappeared before the next spell had even begun to manifest. The adults all turned to stare at Harry at that. Though usually the shades that appeared lasted longer, each and every one of them recognized the sign of a successfully cast Killing Curse, but each had privately assumed that Harry Potter's survival at Godric's Hollow had been a one-time thing. They missed the few offensive spells that Riddle had used during his attempts to bring down the pheonix, the gears in their minds turning with the implications of Harry's continued survival. Their attention refocused when the spell McGonagall had been looking for showed itself.

Lines squeezed themselves from the wand and arranged themselves to spell the name Tom Marvolo Riddle, then rearranged themselves to spell out _I am Lord Voldemort_. Minerva cancelled her spell and the words disappeared. Dumbledore did his best to ignore the sharp pain running down his left arm, or the way it felt hard to breathe when he saw the cruel smile on the boy's features. "The spirit spoke Parseltongue, and summoned a basilisk to kill me. Luckily, Fawkes had showed up." Harry gestured grandly at the phoenix, who took a regal bow, spreading his wing like a stage magician making an elaborate presentation of himself, or like Lockhart.

"Fawkes took the thing's eyes out, then dropped the Sorting Hat at my feet." Harry gently set the hat upon Dumbledore's desk, and Dumbledore in turn transferred it to its shelf. "Luckily for all involved, it gave me exactly what I required to keep us both alive and kill the basilisk." For just a moment, Harry's eyes met Dumbledore's.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore regretted a great many things. One of the foremost among these was his mastery of Legilimency. He had a rare talent for it, but couldn't seem to turn it off. He had once tried to avoid meeting people's eyes, since he invariably saw things in them that he could not block out. It was a terrible invasion of privacy, but it had saved more than one life over the years, and Dumbledore had eventually come to terms with it. Usually, he let the surface thoughts he kept seeing wash over him, doing his best to ignore everything that wasn't potent. However, it should be noted that he _was_ a Master Legilimens. If he wanted to, he could find anything he looked for, if it was to be found. Harry was worrying him more than he would ever care to admit, so Dumbledore went looking.

Dumbledore saw the battle in full, and felt Harry's regret at the death of the basilisk. Dumbledore nearly sighed in relief; Harry could still be saved from the Darkness that seemed to crawl and creep and grasp. Harry could be saved the way his lover Grindelwald and his student Riddle had not been. Dumbledore took a quick moment to grab the memories from finding Hermione's note to arriving at this office. Sure, there was a lot to grab, but Dumbledore was a Master Legilimens. There was only a single moment missing, between Harry's loss of conciousness at the deadly fang of the basilisk and his revival by the tears of the pheonix. That wasn't too troubling; there were rarely memories formed during periods of unconciousness. Sleep was a different matter, but dreams were extraordinarily weird.

The brief moment of contact ended, and Harry continued, "I can't tell you everything that happened, it went so fast, but in the end I used a basilisk fang to pierce the diary and destroy the spirit." Harry glanced quickly around the room, his eyes resting for a moment on the exhausted Ginny Weasley. "Could we have a bit of privacy?" Dumbledore moistened his lips nervously, Harry James Potter had turned cold and sharp once more, "I need to discuss the information I have about how this Dark Magic Item got in the school in the first place. I would think that Governor Malfoy and the Headmaster would rather I do so in private."

Dumbledore glanced around the room, then nodded sagely, putting on his best grandfatherly airs, "Of course Harry, that's very wise of you. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, it's clear to me that young Ginny is just an unfortunate victim in all this, so I'd like for you and young Ronald to accompany her to the Hospital Wing. We should make certain that she's suffered no harm and," Dumbledore used his very favorite cantrip to make his eyes twinkle, "I'm sure young Ronald would like to see Miss Granger as soon as she's fed the Mandrake Draught. It should be ready by now.

"Professor McGonagall, I think the news that we're no longer beset by these attacks is very good cause for a feast. Won't you go notify the kitchens and the other Heads of House?" Dumbledore turned to the last of his departing guests, "Professor Lockhart, I'm afraid we can't do much for your memory loss, but if you'll follow the Weasleys to the Hospital Wing, I'm sure Madam Pomfrey can make you comfortable until we can contact a specialist."

As his guests left the room ("Heavens, I'm a Professor? I must have been awful!"), Dumbledore turned to his final two guests, gesturing them to take seats before him. The plush armchairs were ever so slightly lower than his, establishing a bit of subtle dominance, and very comfortable, putting nervous students at ease. "Lemon drop?"

He guests each declined, and he popped a few of the tart candies in his mouth. _Why does nobody ever take one?_ Lucius seemed unruffled, and his elf finally managed to finish polishing his shoes, then set about cleaning the man's robes. Harry, on the other hand, took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly and quietly.

Dumbledore knew he'd have to handle this very, very carefully. If he was too permissive, like he'd been with Gellert, the boy would grow to expect the world to be handed to him on a silver platter. Since most of the wizarding world seemed entirely ready to do exactly that, Dumbledore had to prevent that. If he denied him too much, as he had Tom, the boy would almost certainly turn to other sources of power and influence to satisfy his desires. Dumbledore was startled from his musings when Harry Potter turned to Lucius Malfoy and said the last thing Dumbledore had ever expected.

"I want your elf."

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

Harry's heart was beating so fast and loud he could barely hear, but the looks of absolute shock on the older men's faces said plenty, and were absolutely priceless besides. Trying desperately to calm down, Harry waited a minute and hoped that the blank face he was affecting made him look in control of the situation. He allowed a small quirk of the mouth when he saw that Dobby's mouth was hanging open, the brush he'd been using on Malfoy's robes frozen in place.

"It's really very simple," Harry continued, looking at Dumbledore for a minute. This all depended on the old man. Harry saw the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes and hoped he could figure out what Harry was attempting. "Ginny told me where she found the diary, and I remember you picking that exact book from her cauldron. Furthermore, Tom was a bit chatty, and he mentioned to me exactly who had held his dairy for years." This was, of course, a total lie, but Harry hoped it would make a convincing bluff.

"Now, I might not have much evidence in the physical sense, but I _am_ the Boy-Who-Lived. What would people think if I went around telling them exactly who was responsible for the constant attacks on Hogwarts this year?" Harry tried for a friendly smile, "Now, I wouldn't gain much from this, but you stand to lose quite a bit. I'd much rather have a house-elf of my own."

Harry gestured at Dobby, who had resumed half-heartedly brushing his master's robes. "Yours is obviously competent, and you are in a dangerous position. If you give him to me, now, I will accept whatever story you and Dumbledore put forth, and even endorse it. If not…" Hary left his final sentence hanging, hoping the implied threat would be enough.

To his great relief, Dumbledore leaned forward, eyes twinkling. He met Harry's eyes for a moment before winking and turning to Malfoy, "This arrangement seems quite viable to me, Lucius. I'll talk to you later about what story we'll tell the press, and what the price for _my_ silence on the matter is. I will tell you, though, that at the very least, you'll be meeting Harry's price."

Lucius Malfoy looked like he'd eaten something absolutely foul. As if the words on his tongue were made of ash, he snapped, "Dobby. You belong to Potter now. Your last command is that you shall not reveal any of House Malfoy's secrets to the young upstart." He tried spit on the elf, but Dobby moved out of the way and attached himself to Harry's leg. Harry reached down and rubbed his friend's head, happy he'd saved the elf, at least.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, "I'll meet you in a private room at the Three Broomsticks later tonight, Lucius, to discuss our part of this bargain. I'll see you then." Malfoy curled his lips in a furious sneer, and stalked from the room. The asristocratic blond turned with a sneer at Harry, a pinch of floo powder in his hand and snapped a farewell that really sounded more like a wish that horrible things happen to Harry and all of his descendants. Entirely unruffled by the man's tone, Dumbledore managed a cheery farewell before the flames swallowed Malfoy entirely. He then turned back to Harry, his eyes grave, "Harry, I gather you had something else you wanted to talk to me about?"

Harry nodded, "Yes, Professor. Just a moment, though." Harry disengaged from Dobby and knelt down, slipping off a mucky shoe and pulling free a sock. "I know you wanted to be free, Dobby, so here you are."

Dobby's eyes widened and his ears slapped against his face as he frantically shook his head no and held up his hands, pleadingly. "Oh no, great Master Harry Potter Sir, Dobby does not want to be free from **you**! Master Harry Potter Sir is a great Master!" Dobby's eyes filled to the brim with tears and he sobbed dramatically, "Master Harry Potter Sir cares what Dobby wants and saved Dobby from Bad Master Malfoy! Dobby would rather serve the great Master Harry Potter Sir for a thousand thousand lifes than be free for one day!" Dobby paused for a moment. "Dobby thinks Dobby might have that backwards."

Dobb grabbed Harry's foot (the bare one) and kissed it, groveling miserably, "Please do not free Dobby, great Master Harry Potter Sir! Please!" Harry caught the full force of a house-elf's puppy dog eyes, and could not bear it for a moment.

"All right, Dobby, all right. I won't free you, but what will you do during the year? I'll be at Hogwarts the whole time!" Harry glanced at Dumbledore, embarrassed by the smile the Headmaster was having great trouble hiding.

"It's all right, Harry, we can make room for him in the kitchens and the laundry. The elves are never happier than when they're working, and Hogwarts has a lot of work to be done." Dobby's shouts of joy and happiness caused Harry no end of embarrassment and Dumbledore no end of amusement, if the older man's chuckles were anything to go by.

"Okay, Dobby, why don't you go help with the Feast coming up? I need to talk to Dumbledore some more." Harry suggested. With a 'pop', he and the Headmaster were alone. Harry turned slowly, nervous beyond all accounts. Surely Dumbledore would listen? He had backed Harry up on the Malfoy issue, after all. Harry straightened up at that thought. Yes, surely the Headmaster would listen. He was a very reasonable man, after all.

"Headmaster, I don't want to go back to the Dursleys this year, or any year, ever again. Please?" Harry started off firm and resolute, but by the end, he'd shrunk back in on himself. Why should this make him so nervous? He'd faced down Lucius "I own everything" Malfoy with no trouble! Harry had no guess, but the frown on the Headmaster's face made his gut sink and an obscure sense of guilt build in the back of his mind.

Dumbledore looked terribly sad and old. The aged wizard closed his eyes and replied solemnly, "I'm sorry, Harry, but you have to go back. Your presence there keeps both you and them safe. I'm sure they've missed you all year, and they'll be terribly glad to see you. I know they seem strict and hard on you sometimes, but they're your family. They're responsible for your well-being and happiness, not only now, but throughout your life. That's why they've got to be so hard on you. The discipline they're working to teach you will follow you until you grow old and turn grey, and will help you stay happy and healthy, even with nobody to look after you." He leaned forward, a twinkle back in his eyes, "Do you understand, Harry?"

Harry couldn't bring himself to meet the old man's gaze, and he hung his head. He'd had such high hopes. He couldn't even bring himself to complain about the way they fed him (or didn't) or the way they'd locked him away whenever something freakish happened, like Dobby's levitation of dessert. His thoughts spiraled downward a bit as he mumbled his understanding to the Headmaster and trudged from the room, not waiting for the Headmaster's dismissal. He wandered the halls for a while until a mass of bushy hair obscured his vision and a Hermione-shaped bundle wrapped her arms about him, yelling in joy. He plastered a smile on his face, trying not to cry out in pain. Sure, he hurt a bit, but Hermione was back in the land of the living. She was quickly joined by Ginny's rather less exuberant efforts and Ron's solid pat on the back.

They dragged him away to the feast, chattering excitedly, and he turned away from his melancholy and tried to focus on the fact that everyone was alive and he was about to eat massive quantities of absolutely incredible food.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

Dumbledore popped a lemon drop in his mouth, proud of his efforts. He'd caught a glimpse of Harry's intentions (unintentionally), then confirmed them with a closer look at the boy's mind. Wanting to help a friend was a wonderful motivation for his stance against Malfoy, and the boy's regard for what many wizards would have considered a 'lesser creature' did the boy credit.

Why, he'd even been able to convince the boy to return to his family without resorting to threats! It was common for young men to rebel from their family, and Arabella Figg's reports suggested that the Dursleys were a strict family, just like Dumbledore's own had been. Being in their care for the summer would do the boy good, and it was a testament to Harry's maturity (developed by the Dursley's no doubt exceptional care) that the boy had seen reason so quickly.

He was very proud of Harry, in fact. He had very clearly desired a more lenient, lazy summer with a fairly great passion. His nervousness had been as obvious as though it had been screamed aloud, but when Dumbledore said no, Harry hadn't thrown a fit or gone into a rage, like Dumbledore had almost feared. No, he'd meekly accepted it, and acquiesced to Dumbledore's reasons for him to return ot his family.

_Yes,_ Dumbledore mused as he popped another lemon drop in his mouth and rolled it across his teeth, _life is going very well._

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

The Feast was amazing. It was easy to tell who had been attacked; everyone else was in the pajamas, and each victim was surrounded by a knot of people listening to them telling the harrowing tales of glancing about and meeting a pair of giant yellow eyes. Their audiences all gasped at exactly the right places, too. No few of the tales were embellished, but Creevy's story was enhanced by the burned out camera he'd finagled from the faculty after his waking.

The noise had stopped abruptly when Harry entered the Hall and every eye turned to him. Ron and Ginny had been cleaned in the Hospital Wing, but Harry still had a slight coating of dirt, grime, and blood, not to mention a bare foot. Suddenly, the group swayed in the force of the entire student body, even most of the Slytherins, cheering _en mass_. Harry waved at them bashfully before taking his seat and loading his plate.

Justin even came over and shook Harry's hand, much abashed, and apologized for accusing him. "Looking back on it, it was pretty obvious you weren't egging that snake on. I mean, it stopped the moment you spoke to it and curled up." He quickly rejoined the Hufflepuffs, to much ribbing and teasing.

Dumbledore stood up and addressed the hall. He awarded Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione a hundred points each and an Award for Special Services to the School for their bravery in saving the school, as well as Hermione's immediately telling others to use a mirror and Harry and Ron's responsible thinking in alerting a teacher to the location of the Chamber immediately. "Regretfully, Professor Lockhart suffered an incapacitating injury when his wand backfired during this adventure. He won't be able to join us next term, as he'll be in St. Mungo's long-term ward reacquiring his memory."

When the cheering had died down, and Professor Flitwick had finished his impromptu jig on the table, Dumbledore continued on to tell them all that exams had been cancelled as a school treat (everyone but the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students were happy at this, since those years would have to take exams anyway) and that Hagrid would be returning from his imprisonment shortly.

Harry's group cheered the loudest at the Gryffindor table, though nobody matched the Hufflepuff table, where the gentle giant was much beloved. Indeed, when Hagrid entered the Hall at half past three, he was mobbed by well-wishers in yellow-trimmed robes and a trio of shining Gryffindor faces. He beamed and announced that he'd be getting a new wand over the summer, since the charges that had gotten his snapped had been summarily overturned, thanks to the Gryffindor trio ("Oh, and young Ginny, too, I hear.").

The festivities lasted until dawn, with a few first years asleep on their plates in exhaustion. Ron basked in the attention, Hermione bored everyone but the Ravenclaws with her tales of how she'd researched the answer, and Harry slowly curled into a little ball, nervous and ashamed by all the attention he was getting. The only real bright spots were those times when the elves put a new course on the table (and everyone stopped talking at him to stuff their faces with sweets), and when Ginny introduced him to her friend from Ravenclaw.

Luna looked at him with wide eyes that made her look vaguely surprised, her blonde hair straight and shining in the candlelight of the Great Hall. When Ginny had finished introductions and Harry had shaken her hand, she stood there, looking right through him, for a good minute. She finally broke the awkwardness (that she didn't notice) with a melodic and somewhat thin voice, "You should come visit my house, Harry. I'm sure my father would love to meet you. You're welcome to stay whenever you want, just come on by. Don't worry if we're not there, you're welcome anyway." Then she wandered off, limping slightly.

Harry wondered briefly why she was wearing shoes that were obviously not from the same pair, and why they were both the left half of their pair, but put it out of his mind when the treacle tart pan re-filled.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

Hermione Granger hummed as she reviewed her notes in the common room. Aside from the fact that her friends preferred to study here (and she had friends, now! That was worth giving up the Library for a few hours any day), being able to hum was an excellent reason to study in the common room instead.

She wasn't too upset about the exams being cancelled, though she'd protested when the announcement was made. It seemed expected of her somehow. The petrification had wreaked unholy havoc on her sudy schedule, after all, and she wasn't at all prepared. Still, she suspected she'd find it impossible to get Ron and Harry to study without the threat of failing the exams looming over their heads. Still, she smiled as she sorted through the various papers the boys had presented her with; they'd done their absolute best to take notes while she was indisposed.

She smiled as she slowly deciphered Ron's untidy scrawl to transcribe to her own notes. Their efforts were … lacking, by her standards, but the fact that they'd tried warmed her right through her core and made her tingle with giddiness. She couldn't think of anyone from her old schools who'd have done the same, even if a teacher had assigned them the task personally. The boys had done so without prompting, despite their general dislike for school activities. She glanced to her right, where Ron was soundly trouncing Harry in another game of chess.

Technically, it was wizard's chess, but the moves were the same, the pieces were the same, and the board was the same. In her opinion (the best opinion), it was ridiculous to pretend it was a different game by giving it a different name. She wondered idly if any other games had been reproduced in the wizarding world in the same way. Hermione giggled, imagining "Wizard's Shogi" or "Wizard's Chinese Checkers".

Harry and Ron glanced at her, and she blushed. Giggling was entirely unlike her. She returned to her studies, red-faced. She'd filled three more pages of her own notes when Ron decided to go to bed, and Harry sat down next to her. She tensed up a bit as he leaned in. He was so close! His lips were right next to her ear when he whispered, "I need to talk to you privately, it's important."

Her heart beating like crazy, she tried to hold it together as she stuffed her notes back into their appropriate folders and stashed her books back in her bag. "I need a book from the library to finish this, Harry," she announced, slipping from the bench. "We've still got about half an hour to curfew. Care to join me?"

He nodded and followed her from the common room. She worried she was walking too stiffly, then worried that she was walking too loosely. _Why am I so bad at subterfuge?_ Soon, they'd rounded a corner into a hallway with no paintings, and Harry put a hand on her shoulder. He looked around, carefully, even checking above them, and then looked straight at her.

Hermione had read all about him before the train ride. She'd even induldged in fiction accounts of his childhood, that had him vanquishing dragons and fighting off lethifolds with a spork. Still, even the non-fiction works had been complimentary in their speculation. They hadn't had much to go on, given the requirements for secrecy surrounding his living situation, but every scrap they had aquired was presented in the best possible light.

She'd been slightly disappointed when she met him on the train. She'd done her best to make a good impression, of course, but she hadn't expected him to be so small, or to be dressed so shabily. He'd been quiet and unassuming most of the year, too. He'd shone for a moment, rescuing Nevile's rememberall, but then promptly dimmed and faded into the background again afterwards. He hadn't teased her, but he hadn't tried to be friendly to her, either, and she'd gotten wrapped up in her own problems.

The Troll Incident of first year was the most terrifying thing she could remember. Not even spotting the basilisk's eye in her mirror had caused her heart to stop the same way. Figuratively, of course, considering that he basilisk had made her heart stop literally. She could still remember with absolute clarity how frozen she'd been, staring up at the massive troll. How the bottom had dropped from her stomach. If she hadn't spent the whole day in the bathroom up to that point, she might have done something extraordinarily embarassing when it raised its club to smash her into a tasty goo.

Then: **Harry**. He had come out of nowhere. One moment, there was her and the troll. The next moment, Harry clung to its neck, a wild fire in his eyes as he rode a mountain troll and tried to wrestle it into submission without knowing a lick of magic. She'd never forget the sight. His eyes held that fire now, banked and less intense, but still present. She felt as though he was paring her down to her soul as he stared into her eyes.

"Hermione." His voice was so serious, so soft. This was important, and she had to focus. _Focus, Hermione, focus!_ She got caught up a little in how deep and rich his voice sounded, though. How could someone her age have a voice like that? "This is very important, and absolutely secret. Do you understand? Can you keep this quiet?" She nodded. There was no way she'd let her first and best friend down.

"That basilisk was old. Absolutely ancient, and put there by one of the Founders. I killed it, and I'm going to be doing some things over the summer that Dumbledore won't like." Hermione opened her mouth, worried, but his finger on her lips threw the concept of speaking right out of her head, and she focused on what he had to say. "I have to do it, Hermione. I tried asking, but they won't listen to me." He sounded a touch bitter about that. Hermione wasn't surprised that the adults hadn't listened to Harry. She was sad, of course, but it seemed to be a pattern. They hadn't listened about the Stone, either.

Harry continued, "What I need you to do is make sure I've not broken any laws or rules in killing this thing. They're going to be upset enough as it is, I'm sure, and I don't want them to have any hold over me. I'm sure there's other stuff that's important, but that's the one I can think of right now. Please, Hermione, I can't do this on my own. I'm rubbish at research. Please, Hermione, help me?"

She looked deep into his eyes. How could she possibly say no?

Hermione nodded, and they went to the Library, where she checked out books on Transfiguration, Potions, and one titled _Wizarding Law and Customs_.


	3. Chapter Three

~~~~~ Chapter 3 ~~~~~

Harry had gotten a lot of practice in having people whisper, stare, and even try to fawn over him. He'd been getting practice since the very first moment he stepped across the threshold of the Leaky Cauldron, in fact. It was very annoying, but it didn't seem to be going away. Harry counted himself lucky that the people who fawned all over him seemed rare, but he had decided to be cautious about new acquaintances. Ron's approach might have been a wee bit suspect, but he hadn't seemed to want Harry's fame, just his friendship, and he'd been right there when things started going bad.

Ron had been right there in the bathroom when he rescued Hermione from the troll. Ron had been right there when they'd gone to protect the stone. Ron had been right there when they snuck into the Slytherin Common Room. Ron had been right there for the spiders and the basilisk, too. Harry mused that Ron had put himself in harm's way when it had been a choice between that and losing the stone, or his sister. Ron had put himself in the troll's notice when it was just Hermione the know-it-all, whom Ron actively disliked, in danger. Harry counted Ron as a good friend.

Still, there was only so much Ron could do to shield Harry. Ron might have stuck around when the whole school turned against Harry, murmuring and whispering that he was the Heir, but even though he had been right there during the rescue, his presence at Harry's side did nothing to reduce the whispers about Harry. He tried to divert attention away from Harry, of course, by telling his version of events; nobody paid him any mind. (Actually, Ron was just trying to brag. Harry's dislike of attention might have skewed the boy's views a little bit.)

The whispers had been dying down in the weeks leading up to Ginny's abduction and rescue. They'd started up again with a vengeance the moment he'd stepped into the feast. Nobody seemed to care that Ron had gone down to the Chamber with Harry, or that Hermione and Ginny had been key players in that drama. No, the fact that Harry showed up to the feast in bloodstained robes while everyone else was clean, if a bit tired, completely overrode that. So, guiltily, Harry explained his reasons to his friends, and hid away from even their company except in their quiet corner of the Gryffindor Common Room or those places he couldn't avoid, like classes or mealtimes.

Harry had taken to wearing his father's cloak whenever he had to go anywhere and slinking alone through the corridors. He made frequent trips to the library, often meeting Hermione there and helping her research what wizarding law made of his summer plans. He'd also determined that he needed to speak to his Head of House. It sounded to him like breaking from the Dursleys would mean a permanent increase in the danger that faced him on a regular basis, so there was no point not to have as much magic on his side as possible.

Professor McGonagall had been a much easier trip than he'd been expecting, too. He'd explained that he had changed his mind and wanted to study Ancient Runes and Arithmancy next year. She'd warned him about the effort required to pass those courses, and he'd assured her he'd put forth as much effort as he had to. He'd suggested, in the most roundabout way he could, that he wanted to spend more time with Hermione, having missed her during the year. McGonagall's eyes grew suspiciously shiny at that, and she began rooting through one of the drawers in her desk.

Apparently, students change their minds about which courses they wanted to take in third year often enough that she had the paperwork already at hand.

Harry dropped Divination at Professor McGonagall's suggestion. According to her, taking that many courses pushed things a little. She went on to say, "Divination is a wooly enough subject at the best of times, Mr. Potter, and Professor Trelawney is … well, I can't say anything about it as I'm a Professor myself. Shouldn't have even brought it up."

The research in the library began taking up an ever-increasing amount of time. Hermione thrived on it, but he found that the continuous hours reading were aggravating an already massive headache. It was important, though, so he spent every spare hour sneaking books on law and custom into a few of the novels available in the Hogwarts Library. Every time Madame Pince or Professor McGonagall saw him and Hermione sitting at the same table, they'd hurry off into the stacks with knowing grins that made him a little uncomfortable.

There wasn't much to find, for all their effort. One law stated that no woman may wear her peruke on Sunday unless accompanied by a man in a periwig. Another stated that audible borborygmus in the Wizengamot chambers after noon would result in a fine of twelve sickles and a knut. Harry resisted the urge to bash his own head in when he discovered that at least one law was on the books no less than three separate times.

Even Hermione was slowly losing the ability to focus on the impenetrable law books. She kept staring into the middle distance, her jaw slack and her book slowly slipping from her hands. In the last week of school, she happened across a law stating that any creature slain in the defense of another witch or wizard belonged to the killer. It referenced an even older law that any wizard or organization that could not control a tangible asset like a magical creature or device ceded all rights to that asset to any wizard or organization that could do so. Gems such as these made the enormous quantities of dross they had to sift through worthwhile, though the language was such that Harry often had to turn to Hermione for a translation.

Harry couldn't understand a word of that particular statute either, but Hermione assured him that Hogwarts lost all right to the basilisk the first time someone got petrified. Since Harry killed it, the snake was all his. They copied down the reference to the law and went outside. They had a law they could point to, now, and that should be enough, considering that there was no such thing as legal counsel in the wizarding world. Privately, Hermione wondered why squibs weren't given specialty training in law. She might have suspected bigotry, if she hadn't tried to read the legal code herself and found it both dull and impenetrable.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

The rest of term passed more or less quietly. A photographer came in, took pictures of Dumbledore, the elder Malfoy, and the kids. Apparently, Malfoy had agreed to a bit of subterfuge suggesting that Dumbledore had not been sacked, but only pretended to be in order to draw out the attacker. Harry gave a curt "no comment", but Ron told a harrowing story that ended with the rocks caving in on them when Lockhart's wand backfired. Ginny also had no comment, and Hermione only referred them to the book she'd found the reference to basilisks in.

Harry spoke with the Weasley Twins about how underage magic was tracked, "Just in case."

"It's the Trace, Harry."

"We're not sure where or when it's slapped on you, -"

"But we know it doesn't detect non-active magic, like potions."

"Supposedly, it doesn't work so well when you've got adult wizards throwing magic about, so you might be able to cast at the Burrow, with Mum and Dad about, -"

"But Mum's a real stickler for the rules, she'd never let you get away with it, Harry. She barely lets us get away with our potions work, as it is."

A short conversation with Dobby wasn't much help either. Apparently, he'd mimicked Harry's magical signature as thoroughly as he could, and the Trace had picked up on it. He knew it would happen, but couldn't explain why. Harry'd stopped Dobby from breaking his nose on the castle walls to punish himself, then thanked him for his help. Harry considered the problem in the train compartment as the Hogwarts Express pulled away from the castle for the summer holidays, ignoring the booms of Fred and George's game of Exploding Snap.

The real problem was his trunk. He'd get caught in minutes if he had to lug it around. There was no way the muggles wouldn't notice a child dragging a heavy trunk. Fred and George had already confirmed that they couldn't get a shrinking charm to last more than twelve hours, and that just wasn't enough time.

His epiphany came when Hermione pulled out a thick text on transfiguration. The problem was knowledge. Power was obviously a component, but the twins had admitted that it took a bit more skill than they currently possessed to make the charm stick. He slipped out of the compartment and jogged down the train. Spotting blue trim, he called out, "Excuse me!"

The Ravenclaw prefect turned around. "My family's taking a road trip after I get back," Harry lied, "and I was hoping you knew a way to keep my trunk shrunk for a few days. The best my friends can manage is twelve hours." She smiled and nodded.

"Sure, I can do that." He led her back to the compartment. On seeing each other, the prefect and Ginny blushed, though neither said anything. Fred and George grinned at each other, imagining reasons for this. Harry didn't notice, as he was pulling his trunk free of the pile. She waved her wand in the shape of a sideways eight in a circle followed by a box formed of two triangles. She flicked her wand twice, then touched it to the trunk, incanting, "Manentem adstringo."

The trunk shrunk until Harry could put it in his pocket. "It should last four days. If you place your wand in the center of the lid and imagine a balloon popping, it should unshrink. You'll not get cited for that unless you do it in front of muggles. The ministry generally searches for active magic, and that was part of the spell I set up, so it won't show up." She glanced at Ginny, then left in a hurry. Ginny assured them that she wasn't being discriminated against because of the events in the Chamber. Her issues with Miss Clearwater were a completely separate thing. When the twins tried to pry, she brandished her wand and reinforced the concept of privacy with a few muttered threats.

At the platform, Harry let Hedwig fly off, telling her to find him in a few days. He ditched her cage when nobody was looking, and left the Platform. His uncle complained all the way to the car, then insulted him twice before they'd left the parking lot.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

Azkaban echoed with the screams of its prisoners. Minister Fudge was making his twice-yearly rounds. He seemed spooked by the relatively sober and sane visage presented by one of the inmates, who politely requested the newspaper. He liked to do the crossword.

"Are you serious?!" Minister Fudge sputtered.

"Always."

After the fat, incompetent Minister left, Sirius Orion Black gently leafed through the Prophet. His throat ached from just that interaction, but he knew better than to ask for water. Right, ask the dementors for more water. He turned to the front page and paused. There, above the fold, was a boy the spitting image of his brother. James looked just like he had first year.

Sirius shook his head, and looked again; read the article. He slumped against the wall of his cell, feeling an odd sort of miserable triumph. Harry'd succeeded without him, and what a success! He'd never needed his godfather anyway. Good. Sirius mourned. He'd have been a terrible godfather anyway. He smiled at the pictures of his godson's friends. Such worthy people to surround himself wi—

The paper crackled under his grip. His lips turned up to bare his teeth, and Sirius Orion Black of the Ancient and Noble House of Black felt something he hadn't felt in a decade. Purpose. That filthy, disgusting rat dared get near his godson?! He'd tear him limb from limb, then piss on the bits. Revenge was not a happy thought at all, and Sirius knew the dementors couldn't possibly sap him quickly enough to prevent Pettigrew's miserable, stinking carcass from finding itself on the Ministry steps.

Azkaban echoed with the screams of its prisoners, and with mad, barking laughter.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

"And another thing, boy! Where's your trunk? You do something freakish to it? Well, I won't have it in my house, you hear me?!" Vernon's bluster was finally winding down to a dull roar. Harry figured he wouldn't have a better chance to make his case. If this didn't work … he'd consider more drastic measures.

"Uncle Vernon," Harry began. His uncle preferred meek and respectful. Quiet was the key, "How'd you like to get rid of me forever?"

Vernon's rant paused, and he eyed Harry in the mirror. "What's the catch, boy?"

"The others want me to stay with you. If they find I've run away, they'll track me down and force me to return."

Vernon was dead silent for the next mile. "It gonna cost me money, boy?"

Harry hid a smile. His uncle was hooked, "Not a pound, Uncle Vernon. I just need to slip out of the house without being noticed."

His uncle chewed on his moustache, shifting his bulk into a turn. "You're not gone by tomorrow, I'm locking you in your room again, boy. You don't come back, we'll never think about you again. I see you again, you'll find yourself a world o' hurt, freak."

Harry nodded, carefully keeping his face blank. The car finished its journey in silence. Harry slipped out of the lorry and up to his room without a sound and pulled his father's cloak from his pocket. He made sure to show himself at the window before pulling the curtains closed, and swirled the shimmering cloth about his shoulders to wait for night.

0-0

Harry slunk out the back door, over the fence, and out onto the next street over. Years with the Dursleys had taught him silence, and the Cloak made hiding easy. He had his trunk stashed in his back pocket and his wand secreted up his sleeve, held in a loose grip. He'd been in a hurry, and hadn't made arrangements for his broom, something he was regretting. Flight would make this escape a snap.

Everything went more smoothly than he could possibly have hoped. He couldn't spot any sign of any watchers, and nobody tried to stop him. He hurried away from Little Whinging as quickly as his legs could carry him.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

Dobby followed his Great and Powerful and Wonderful and Amazing Master in the between-space elves use to hide when waiting on their masters discretely. He folded his long bony fingers against each other and pressed his lips to the knuckles on his first fingers as he watched his Good and Awesome and Superb and Kind and Sublime Master walking cross-country, hidden by a shimmering cloak that made it hard to focus on the Best Master A House Elf Could Ever Want. Dobby wondered privately to himself why his Master hadn't given him any instructions about what to do. He thought hard all night long, and all day the next day, trying to come up with some reason his Master had chosen not to give Dobby his Elfly Duties.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

It was noon the next day, and Harry was exhausted. Walking all night and all day was significantly more wearing than he'd expected. He tried to imagine doing this with his trunk full size, and couldn't. His stomach complained, but he didn't have any money but the wizarding coins in his pouch. Harry grumbled to himself. This could have been better planned.

_No matter,_ he thought as he trudged ever onward. _I'm free, and I'll just have to sneak into Diagon Alley at some point. I'll be able to take care of being hungry then, and I've gone hungry before. I don't _need_ food yet, I just want it._ Hidden beneath his father's Cloak, Harry grinned. If worst came to worst, he'd simply use the cloak to steal from one of the restaurants he kept passing. It wasn't the most ethical solution, but it was better than starving.

Harry forced his body on, unable to suppress the smile on his face. It didn't matter that he was hungry and tired and sore. He was free.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

Off the coast of Azkaban, a black dog struggled through the waves under bright sunlight. Night might have made a better ambiance for the escape, but the dementors were less active during the day, and he needed every advantage that came his way.

An hour of a struggling dogpaddle later, the dog dragged itself onto the soil of mainland Britain. Shaking itself dry, it set off for where it vaguely remembered the Longbottom Manor was. Away from the dementors, its priorities had changed. See godson, _then_ rend the traitorous bastard limb from limb.

0-0

There was no scent of Harry at Longbottom Manor. Not one trace. The dog snarled. If Harry wasn't with the Longbottoms, _where was he_? He should have ended up here, if Sirius couldn't care for him. Time to try other likely families.

0-0

A large black dog slunk through the suburbs. The night made him relatively invisible, but he still wanted to avoid muggle Animal Control. He whined, remembering how Lily'd set them on him for pranking her hairbrush. Honestly, he thought she'd looked _great_ with neon green hair. He'd kept that memory by remembering how his stupid foolishness had cost the closest thing he still had to a brother and his wife their lives.

_No. Focus, Padfoot._ Seven possible homes, seven homes with zero scent of his godson. He'd thought he'd caught something at the Weasley's, but the whole place was deserted, not a sign of the whole family. No, there was only one place left to check. He growled, smelling his godson on the rosebushes and the lawn, and on the door of the automobile. He had no idea how Harry had ended up with _Petunia_, of all people, but he wasn't about to rest until he found Harry and made sure he was all right.

Padfoot followed the most recent scent trail, leading away to the north-ish. It was a day or two old, but he'd find the only remaining Potter and he'd make sure. He'd made the mistake of trusting Dumbledore with Harry once, and he'd ended up in Azkaban for his troubles. He'd make sure his godson was really, truly okay _first_, this time.

0-0

Padfoot was in a wee bit of a panic, if he was being perfectly honest with himself. The boy's scent had just up and disappeared! He'd crossed a muggle street at one point, but the scent had been confused by a dozen hundred muggle scents, and even though Padfoot had checked every single alleyway, turn-off, and door on the entire street, there was no sign of his godson. _Where is Harry Potter?_

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

Dobby nodded in satisfaction as he dusted his hands. Clearly, his Master (the Amazing and Wonderful and Good and Superb, etc.) hadn't given him any instructions because Master Harry Potter Sir trusted Dobby enough to know what to do without any instructions whatsoever. Every time he thought of this, Dobby wiped a tear from the corner of his eye; his Master was so kind to Dobby. Just as obviously, Master Harry Potter Sir was trying to hide, so Dobby had done the only sensible thing, and removed the old tracking charm he saw attached to his Good Master Harry Potter Sir's left foot. He'd then gone and cleaned every trace of his Wonderful Master Harry Potter Sir's trail he could reach in an hour and a half.

Dobby nodded to himself, patting himself on the back. He was the best House Elf ever, and Great Master Harry Potter Sir would never, ever regret not freeing him. Dobby would make sure of it.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

Remus Lupin was a man old beyond his years, and shabbily dressed besides. He was a werewolf, and he'd lost the only family he'd ever had twice over. His family by blood had been slaughtered by the very werewolf that cursed him, and the Pack he'd built at Hogwarts had fallen apart about his ears. He'd lost all three of his friends in one go, and hadn't even gotten to see the child he thought of as a nephew in years.

He didn't have a steady income, nor a sizable one, for that matter. Every knut that didn't go to keeping him alive had gone to the search for Harry Potter. It was a search that wasn't assisted very much. Anyone he might have trusted to help believed in Dumbledore absolutely, and while he might have owed the man a great debt for allowing him to attend Hogwarts, Remus Lupin could not accept the man's word at face value. He had to see the child he thought of as a nephew for himself.

He'd lost track of time, and had been living hand-to-mouth for the past four years solid, without even a Knut to spare towards the search for Harry. When he caught sight of the article in the Prophet, he realized that Harry was attending Hogwarts. He decided, then and there, to put his many O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s to good use and applied for the open Defense Against the Dark Arts post at Hogwarts. He'd get to see his nephew again! He might even have a Pack once more!

The only thing that had kept him sane over ten years of living in solitude with his curse and his grief was the charm he'd cast on little Harry the last time he'd seen him. It was a fairly useful babysitting charm, and many parents used it to reassure themselves as to the state of their children. Lupin's had deteriorated over the years, and been blocked somewhat by whatever wards Dumbledore had put into place, but it had reassured Lupin that Harry was still alive.

The charm was a decade old, and he'd not gotten a reasonable location from it since Dubledore's wards went up. When he felt the magic snap apart and he lost the last bit of contact with his Pack that Lupin had, he woke with a start. He was devastated, of course, but the magic had been wearing thin anyway, it wasn't entirely unexpected. Remus had always been the most levelheaded of the Marauders, so he reassured himself for the next day by reaffirming his plan. Knowing that Harry was attending Hogwarts made his course of action obvious: he had to get that DADA job. Remus Lupin went back to sleep, his resolve hardening. He'd get that job, even if the rumored curse meant he died for it.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

The wards around Number Four, Privet Drive were really a thing of beauty. Lily was the most brilliant witch of her generation, and while she and her sister had long since had a falling out, there was a war on. She'd spent three nights constructing the most potent wards she could and tying them to her own blood, doing her best to ensure that Voldemort couldn't strike at her sister to harm her. As long as someone with Evans blood in their veins lived at this House, they would be safe.

She'd keyed the wards to the emotion of love, too. The construction was being done out of love for her sister, after all, and she was sure that Petunia and Vernon loved each other, even if she couldn't imagine them together without throwing up in her mouth a little. In the end, nobody with anything less than positive intentions to her blood could so much as find the house.

As Lily Evans was the most brilliant witch of her generation, Albus Dumbledore was the most brilliant wizard of his. He'd known of her casting, since she'd needed her husband's cloak to do it properly, and James Potter had explained to Dumbledore, "Sorry, sir, but we won't have the cloak as an Order asset for a few days, Lils needs it to ward her sister's house in secret. I'll loan it to you again once she's done."

So when the most powerful charms and wards failed around the Potter home, Albus had immediately turned to what he assumed was Lily's backup location. Albus breathed a sigh of relief to see the wards still standing. Later that day, while waiting for Hagrid to arrive and listening to Minerva's complaining about the muggles (really, he'd thought better of her than simple bigotry, they were probably fine people even if they did lack magic), Albus had cast a simple charm to let him see magic, since he'd have to add a few layers to the wards, just in case. He'd been quite surprised when, in the middle of his work, Hagrid had arrived with young Harry, and the magic of the wards around Petunia's House had reached out to coil itself around the tendrils of magic leaking from Harry.

He assumed this was the result of a fall-back measure Lily had engineered, and adjusted his own ward-work to tie the whole scheme to Harry, as he assumed Lily had intended. In fact, this was a simple side-effect of the fact that Lily's protection ritual on Harry and her wards around Petunia's home both used love as an emotional key.

They were still some very potent wards, of course. The amount of force behind them never wavered, since that was a component of the casters who set the wards, and the end result was a collaborative effort of the most brilliant students of magic from two generations, as well as one of the people reported to be one of the most powerful wizards since Merlin.

Unfortunately, as a result of the emotional keys in both spells, the durability of the wards was tied to how much love Harry felt and received. Had Harry been loved by the Dursleys and been loved in turn, the wards would have withstood assault by Voldemort himself. Due to the neglect he had suffered at their hands, however, the wards wouldn't keep out a determined fourth-year student, once they got past the misdirection effects that kept them away from the house.

Had they been at full strength, the wards might have lasted a solid month or two before snapping, but as they were, when Harry left, intending never to return, the wards barely held out until he settled down for the night before snapping like a dry twig. What magic was left in their construction dissipated within the hour.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

Night had begun to fall again. Harry had no idea where he was, but there was no sign of the magical world, and Harry still lacked muggle money. It was high time he slept, though, and there was a good, hidden spot here. Harry settled down for a rough night. He'd had a bed ever since Hagrid had picked him up out of the hut on the rock, and he wasn't looking forward to another night on the ground.

Harry hunkered down as best he could. He had no idea how the Trace worked, but he was almost positive he wouldn't be able to cast any spells, so there was no hope of a cushioning charm. He stuck himself in the corner of a fire escape, his wand carefully pointed at the entrance to the escape, and made sure his father's cloak was wrapped about him securely. Suspended above the street, Harry noticed the large black dog snuffling around, but didn't pay it any mind. There was, after all, no way for it to reach him. Harry closed his eyes and was asleep in moments, his body still and his dreams quiet.

Darkness crept into his third dream of the night, covering the dream fields and consuming the happy faces of his dream playmates. The dog had long since padded off to another alley, and didn't notice the clanging as, on the fire escape, Harry's body began to twitch and flail. His hand turned white around the grip of his wand. His scar opened and began to bleed.


	4. Chapter Four

**AN: This chapter took a lot longer than I had originally expected. The long and short of it is that I had to increase the wordcount of the previous chapter by about 50% in order to get to the place I wanted for this chapter, and then this chapter fought me every step of the way. Thank you for being patient so far, and enjoy this chapter!**

**P.S. The important takeaway from the above note is that each of the three chapters already posted had their word-count increased by at least a thousand. If you haven't read them since I updated them mid-February, you might have missed something.**

~~~~~ Chapter 4 ~~~~~

Harry flew without a broom, between the clouds and the earth. Laughing, he turned his face up and punched through the clouds at speed. Dancing about them, he fashioned the clouds into sculptures of his friends. Engrossed in this activity, Harry never once looked down; he never noticed the ground blackening and crumbling into nothingness.

The sky began to follow the ground, though, and Harry noticed that. Tendrils of emptiness wormed their way through his sky, tearing off chunks and devouring them until the only things left in the world were Harry and his cloud sculptures of his best friends, Ron and Hermione.

Ron's cloud sculpture fought valiantly, and was devoured first for that. He stood back-to-back with the cloud Hermione, the curling wisps of vapor that made up her hair clinging lightly to his shoulders. There was nothing either could do; the tendrils took Hermione apart piece by piece until the entirety of the world was Harry Potter. Nothing else existed.

Harry flailed about in the emptiness, searching in vain for any sign of his friends. He looked in every direction, panic setting in, before he realized with a start where he was. Swallowing against a dry throat, Harry turned deliberately to look over his shoulder.

Just as had happened in the Chamber of Secrets, a great wall stretched across his vision, but Harry was much closer to the gate, now. The two other versions of him stood there, leaning against the pillars to which they had once been chained. The darker of the two twirled a length of the silver chain contemptuously, scoffing as the ends of it dissolved away at a steady pace.

The golden one spoke first, "Thank you for freeing us, Harry. We've been hoping to return to you for a while now."

Harry couldn't think of anything to say to that, and the darker one continued. "We signed some treaties with the things on the other side of this," here the darker one kicked the gate, "so we're able to offer some advice. Mine first. If you have enough ingredients that are different from each other, you can make any potion, no matter what recipe is known to wizards to work, you just have to pay attention."

The golden one stepped forward, "What is yours is yours to do with as you please, but what is not yours can only be affected indirectly; pay attention to the differences, and you will go far."

The darker one nodded and said with an air of finality, "When you study magic, pay attention; Transfiguration and Charms are fundamentally different from one another."

When neither looked like they would speak again, Harry ventured, "Um ... pay attention to what?"

The grins that split the faces of both of the other beings were horrifically similar, and the golden one stepped forward, raising his left hand slowly. "When you chose to free us as an action, knowing the risks that came with it, you imparted me with the ability to pass on a gift to you." The golden one darted forward, quickly enough that Harry could not stop him, and with his fingers splayed, the golden one touched both lenses of Harry's glasses, "And so, in repayment of a boon bestowed upon me, I grant the gift of Sight."

Harry stumbled backwards, clutching his face. There had been a bright light, disorienting in its intensity. Harry swung his arms in front of him, trying to ward off the other two beings in this empty place, but neither his hands nor his arms touched anything.

When Harry finally blinked his eyes open, nothing seemed to have changed, but the two beings that looked like him were standing a few paces away, smiling eerily. The golden one spoke, "So we have given you three pieces of advice, and a boon in payment of a boon."

The darker one picked up the thread, "We are each allowed to teach you one thing, and we are both compelled to make you confront an abomination. My lesson is simple: this is how you touch magic with your own magic."

The darker one worked Harry for a while, tossing slow moving balls of light into the air and having Harry bat them away with a subtle flex of his own magic. It was rigorous work, and by the time they were done, Harry was exhausted.

The golden one, however, would not let Harry rest, "My lesson is the basis of all warding techniques, the first ever used. Things have changed over the years, so it is a technique no longer taught. When wizards settled down, they required more permanent techniques, but I will teach you how to stretch out your magic to detect harm coming in time to rouse yourself or drive it away."

The technique was fairly simple in theory. Harry just had to stretch out his magic as far as it could go, and then notice when something intruded on the bubble that formed. In practice, this was significantly more difficult than Harry had first assumed. The ripples were so slight that he missed more cues than he picked up on, and he seriously doubted he'd be able to use the technique while sleeping.

Finally, both the dark one and the golden one were satisfied, and they became very serious. "Harry, we are parts of your soul, trapped here apart from you for a very long time. We've been struggling to get back to you and become whole again, but there is another fragment of soul in this place."

Harry felt a chill run up his spine, and the darker one stepped forward to place a hand on Harry's shoulder and turn him around. Reluctant to see, Harry turned his head away, but he couldn't resist looking for long. Harry recoiled in horror, bile rising up into his throat, when he finally did look.

A terrible thing lay on its side there, keening silently in pain. It resembled a child, but its limbs were stretched long and thin, and its flesh had been flensed from its body, leaving a multitude of gaping, weeping wounds. What teeth it possessed had come in at odd angles, and its face was drawn in a rictus of agony.

A hand descended upon Harry's shoulder, and Harry looked up at the darker of the two. He gazed at the bleeding child with hate and fury, "This is a piece of your enemy, struck from his soul and grafted onto your own. It weakens you by its presence and your enemy would be weakened by its destruction." The darker being fixed Harry with a gimlet stare, "Take up your magic and tear it apart."

A golden hand gripped Harry's other shoulder, and he looked up into a face marked by blue lines that seemed to follow the tracks of tears, "It is a wound in the world, created by murder and causing nothing but pain. You should take up your magic and pull apart its being. It has no place in the world."

Harry, though, looked at the pitiful, pained thing, and shook his head. "No." He stepped forward, wrenching out of the two grasps, "If this is my soul, then I'm the one in charge." Harry bent down and gently slipped his arms underneath the pained thing's body. Ever so gently, he lifted the thing into his own lap and rocked it while letting his magic roll over its body and soothe it. "It is in pain, like I was. I don't care who it was, or who it once belonged to. I don't want it to hurt anymore." The thing began to dissolve. The blood leaking from its wounds soaked into the rags Harry wore here, and its body began to dissolve.

The first rush of pain was a terrible shock, but Harry realized what was happening, even as the golden one and the darker one stepped forward to take the pained one from his grasp. He commanded, "Stop. I do not care if I have to take its pain for my own, not if that is the only way to make it healthy again." Harry fixed the two with a determined stare, "So either help me and follow my lead, or chain yourselves back to those pillars. This is my soul, not yours, so my way is the way we go."

The two looked at each other, then stepped forward. Each laid a hand on one of Harry's shoulders, then began to dissolve themselves. Harry's body shook with the pain he was taking in, and the two holding onto either shoulder looked at each other and gave a solemn nod.

Shortly before the golden one, the darker one, and the pained one had dissolved entirely, Harry passed into blissful unconsciousness, leaving the empty world behind.

0-0

Adrian regretted begging his parents for the room next to the window. He'd heard some noises all night, and when he opened the window to shoo away whatever animal had taken up its nest on the fire escape, he'd been confronted with a terrifying sight.

A head, no body attached, floated in mid-air, moaning in pain. Its eyes were glowing a pale, sickly green, and there was an open wound on its forehead that leached some vile black ichor in place of blood. Those eyes turned on him, and Adrian slammed the window closed and fled his room. Now, he huddled on the other side of his bedroom door, clutching a baseball bat.

He had no idea what that was, but it wasn't getting past him. Adrian nodded to himself and clenched up on his bat. He didn't have to get his father, he was a big kid. Adrian spent the rest of the night, waiting for the disembodied head to start banging against his bedroom door, trying to get to his family. He fell asleep two hours before dawn.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

The Doctors Granger were worried. The first year she had been away at Hogwarts, Hermione had babbled at them the whole trip back. She'd not been this quiet on the ride home from school since she was nine and another little girl had blackened their daughter's eye over some imagined slight. The only thing that soothed their nerves was the way Hermione Granger was nibbling on her thumb. That signaled, to them, that their daughter was thinking, not brooding.

They didn't pry, not even when Hermione pre-empted the computer and began pouring through site after site, jotting down notes and making unhappy noises. The elder Grangers murmured at each other, and decided to wait until after dinner the next day to pry.

They arrove home together, as usual, and found that their daughter had sequestered herself in her room, after wiping the history of the computer and shutting it down. They busied themselves with dinner preparations, and the family ate together in companionable silence, as was their custom.

Doctor Granger turned to her daughter, smiling, to ask that they wash up together. The plan was that they would take turns asking gentle questions over companionable activities until Hermione felt like opening up. Doctor Granger paused, however, when she noticed her daughter holding up two parchments, each with an identical title and format.

"Mom, Dad, I want you to read these while I clean up, tonight. I've got something I need to talk to you about. It's important, and I'm not sure how much time I'll have, so please prioritize these." The elder Grangers each took a copy of Hermione's essay and sat back to read while their daughter cleared the table and began washing dishes.

They exchanged worried glances with each other over the top of their daughter's essay on recognizing the signs of child abuse. The way each of the body paragraphs referred to a 'Subject P' soothed their initial worry that Hermione thought she was being abused or neglected at Hogwarts, but they were quite sure that something was terribly wrong, and when Hermione finally finished washing the dishes and returned to the table, each elder Granger had read the essay twice.

Hermione laid her hands on the table imperiously, glad to see that her parents were taking this seriously, and began, "Harry is my best friend, and in the last month, he asked me for some help with a research project. We've gone over the legal code of the wizarding world with a fine-toothed comb, and I'm not enthused about what we've found.

"To start with, the legal code is an absolute mess, and I checked: there are no real wizard lawyers, just politicians. The really troubling thing, though, is what I noticed Harry paying attention to." Hermione sighed, depressed by her conclusion, but unable to think up a more likely reason for Harry's choice in which laws were the most important, "I think Harry is planning to run away from home, and I wanted to know why, so I started reviewing what I knew about his home life."

Hermione gestured at the essays she'd written, "He never wants to go home during any of our breaks, and he mentioned offhand that his Aunt and Uncle would be displeased that he hadn't managed to get himself killed in one of the dangerous situations he often finds himself in. He doesn't believe that adults have his best interests at heart, or will be able to keep him safe or help him.

"I don't see that opinion changing, either, after seeing how he's treated at Hogwarts." Trying to forestall her parents' horrified expressions, she continued talking right over them, "It's not the same for Harry as it is for any other student, even me. He's famous, even if he hates the fame, for something he has no control over.

"He's in a weird situation because of that. The adults are torn between seeing him as an adult in his own right and being a child, so he gets the worst of both worlds. I don't think it's their fault, and they don't treat me that way, so don't worry about that." Hermione took a deep breath, "But they're bound to send someone here when they find out he's run away. We're friends, after all. All I'm asking is that I be there, that you don't handle this without my input. Please."

Her parents looked at each other, then nodded. The Grangers spent the rest of the night planning how to handle the inevitable inquiry, if what the youngest Granger suspected was true.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

Ronald Weasley stirred his porridge thoughtfully, not particularly hungry. He knew that a number of Gryffindors thought him dull, and he knew that he wasn't as smart as Hermione or as quick-witted as Harry, but Ron also knew that he wasn't stupid. He thought about the secretive behaviour of his friends over the past few weeks, and tried to think up a reason for it.

Dean and Seamus, of course, had teased him that the two were going out, but Ron felt that unlikely. Perhaps in a few years, but he had a sneaking suspicion that his friends' behaviour had a different cause.

The Burrow bristled with activity, distracting him. The eldest Weasleys had returned for a family vacation; with Bill and Charlie in the house, there was rarely a moment of peace. Most of the Weasley family preferred it that way. They ate together one meal a day, but for the most part, the family ate when they got hungry and then cleaned up after themselves. It was easier that way.

Ron finished his late breakfast and slipped upstairs, dodging a polka-dotted Charlie chasing after the twins on the way down. He knocked on Percy's door and waited, frowning.

After a few yelps and a rustling of paper from inside Percy's room, the door opened a crack to reveal a startled elder brother with ink all down the front of his robes. "What is it, Ronald?"

"Meet me in Dad's shack in an hour. I'm calling a family meeting." Ron went further upstairs to pass on the message to Ginny before wrangling the twins as well, leaving a startled Percy to close the door and change.

An hour later, every Weasley currently attending Hogwarts had gathered in the packed shed of one Arthur Weasley. Ron looked at them, unusually solemn. The twins were grinning at each other, clearly expecting a prank. Percy looked uncomfortable and thoughtful, and stood apart from the rest of the group. Ginny looked sullen and depressed. _About what I expected,_ Ron thought to himself as he turned and began digging through one specific pile of junk, _so let's hope this works._

With a great clang, Ron pulled a connected set of bars from where they'd hidden it earlier. The twins stopped grinning, and the other two looked curious, so Ron spoke up, "I'm not sure if you noticed, but Harry and Hermione acted a little odd during the last few weeks of school.

"I think they're planning something, but they didn't bring me into it, which means they wanted it kept absolutely secret." Ron patted the bars, "I think it has something to do with these. Percy, we pulled these bars off his window to get him out of his room last summer. We weren't in any way exaggerating when we said his family was starving him."

Ron turned to the youngest member of the family, "I think he's planning to run away from home. When he does, they're bound to try and talk to us. I just wanted to remind everyone why he might be doing something none of us would ever do. Plus, he's the only reason Ginny's still alive. I say, when the teachers come to ask us questions, see if we know anything, we close ranks."

Ron put his hand out, in the center of the group. "We owe Harry a huge debt, and I saw we show everyone that Harry can trust us with his secrets, no matter what. Are you with me?" Ginny's hand was on top of his before he had finished speaking. The twins added their own hands a moment later. Percy reached out and placed a hand on the bars.

Percy asked, "How sure are you of this, Ron?"

Ron answered, "I'm not sure he's going to run away, but I am sure that his family is horrible, and I am sure that we owe him."

None of the Weasleys removed their hands from the pile, despite their discomfort touching for so long. They watched Percy think in silence.

Percy reached out and touched his hand to their group. "Harry is one of ours. We close ranks," he affirmed.

The youngest part of the Weasley clan re-hid the bars and left the shack. The twins returned to pestering their older siblings, and Percy returned to hiding in his room. Ron and Ginny went to the kitchen and ate lunch.

The Burrow bustled with activity as everyone packed their bags. Arthur Weasley had won the ministry drawing, and they could afford a trip to Egypt, to see where Bill worked. They had all agreed (in a family meeting, no less) that keeping the family in contact, even with the eldest sons in different countries, was more important than new robes and books. The Weasley Family Vacation would be a blast for all involved, even the shabby rat that spent every day riding around in Ronald Bilius Weasley's pocket.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

Albus Dumbledore had spent the entire day after Hogwarts let out up to his shoulders in paperwork. He spent a lot of days that way, and sometimes wished there was someone he could trust to be both competent and moral in at least one of the many positions he held. McGonagall might do for Hogwarts, but he still remembered that night she'd warned him about the Dursleys, and he wasn't sure if she'd let her small prejudice affect her policies as Headmistress. Besides, where would they find another competent Head of House?

The Wizengamot and the ICW were both full of fools that cared more about their various agendas than about seeing that the wizards and witches under their care were doing well. There was, essentially, no way he could step down before finding a worthy successor and arranging for them to inherit the position.

Albus sighed and touched the time-turner concealed under his robes. He'd used his max of six hours already today, and he still had work undone. He wished he could retire, or that the Department of Mysteries hadn't failed to extend the capabilities of the time-turners. It was frustrating, trying to do three jobs in one day. When he actually had work to do as the Grand Sorcerer, too, he simply fell behind on sleep for a few days to catch up.

His bed didn't creak under him as Albus sank into the mattress and drifted off to sleep, resolving to catch up on his paperwork tomorrow. He was asleep almost immediately, thanks to some somniamancy techniques he'd picked up somewhere along the way, and dreaming of very strange things when a blaring alarm stirred him from his slumber.

Dumbledore stumbled into his office, swearing under his breath, to check on which alarm was asking for his attention. When he saw it was Harry Potter's, he went very still for just a moment. In no time at all, he had alerted the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix, there was a floo fire connecting to the DMLE, and he'd transfigured his sleeping robes into some slightly more suited for battle.

The Order had learned rapid response in the last war, and Moody was already on his way to Privet Drive by the time the floo connected him to Madame Bones. She quickly dispatched an auror team, then took down his statement regarding the ward collapse. Dumbledore waved for Fawkes, and flamed to Privet Drive, expecting the worst.

"No sign of magical transportation, and I can't find any traces of who broke the wards. Whoever did this had an efficient plan, and were very good at their jobs. I don't think we're going to find the kid in time, Bones." Moody's eye whirled in its socket, mostly focusing on the house, but also scanning each new player who arrived as they arrived, "If I had to make a guess, the wards collapsed on their own, but there's no sign of Potter anywhere. Dumbledore, are you sure this is the kid's place? There's no sign of him, no toys, no pictures, no anything. Possibly, whoever broke the wards vanished or modified anything that gave sign of Potter, then modified the muggles' memories."

Bones raised an eye over her monocle, "We'll have to question them anyway, but we'll wait until morning so one of ours can come dressed as a muggle auror. That'll be easier to explain if their memories have been modified. Jenkins, any sign?"

An auror on a broom shook her head, "I've got no trace of any magical within a day's foot-travel. I can't narrow it down any more than the charm." Her wand spun on the palm of her hand, wavering a little in the northern part of its arc, but not granting the Aurors a clearer heading to follow.

Dumbledore eyed the dissipating traces of the wards he'd set almost thirteen years before. "I have no idea what happened," he admitted to the astounded aurors. "The monitors I tied to the wards never noticed a single iota of change in their potency before the collapse. When I last left my desk, they were still reading at full potency, so whoever did this had to have done it in less than four hours. I don't have both the skill and power to do so, not without leaving some pretty obvious traces. Do either of you have any knowledge of someone who could?"

Madam Bones looked like she'd bitten down on a lemon, only to find it filled with excrement. "Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban. I've had aurors on alert since then, but there's been no sign of him. If he could break out of there, maybe?" She turned to the house, where the teams under her control set the yard to rights and erased any sign of their presence that night.

Moody and Dumbledore looked at each other, grim. "When'll the papers learn of it?" Moody sounded even more gruff than usual.

"Fudge has us keeping a lid on it, but they'll likely learn of the man's escape within the week. I'd like to have him in custody by then, but if the man can pull off things like this..."

One by one, the grim-faced aurors departed, silencing an area before disapparating. Soon, Privet Drive was empty and undisturbed, returned to the 'ordinariness' that its inhabitants so craved.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

Deep in the Department of Mysteries, a shimmering globe contained a small book with a hole punched through the center. Nobody was actively monitoring it. It was midnight, after all, and the book had been destroyed, its magics burned out of it with basilisk venom.

Ink slowly dripped from the book's damaged pages. The woman who set up the containment field had included a trough to collect the ink for later study, and it was half-filled when the final drop fell from the pages of the book.

The small plate on the front of the book reading T. M. Riddle had been blackened by the ink leeching from the book. Venom had burned a hole straight through both covers and all the pages contained there-in. As the last drop of ink fell from the edge of that hole, the small metal plate cracked in half.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

Padfoot huddled in a cardboard box in an alley, trying to sleep. He'd hated to sit idle in Hogwarts; he still did, but Azkaban had robbed him of his strength and his energy. The night was cold, and his patchy fur coat did little to warm his bones.

His worry for his godson didn't help, either. The more time he spent away from the dementors, the more he suspected that Harry had need of him. He'd wallowed in the fact that his godson was growing up happy and well without him, in order to keep the memories of the Potter household, but now that he no longer had to twist his own emotions and reasoning to simply keep his mind...

No, he needed to find his godson, and soon. Padfoot's stomach grumbled in hunger, and he slipped over to a garbage bin and knocked it over. Rooting through the trash might not be particularly dignified, but the one lesson the Blacks had taught that Padfoot had not discarded was that when it came to survival, neither dignity nor pride mattered one whit.

Padfoot rifled though the garbage. Six alleys away, his godson moaned in agony, but over the sounds of the garbage bin and the occasional passing muggle car, Padfoot had no chance of hearing.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

In a shack that had once belonged to the Gaunt family, a small ring lay quietly. Its setting was a small stone with the insignia of a line inside a circle inside a triangle. The shack was dark, but the center of the ring seemed more so, as shadows began to pool inside the band.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

Hermione Granger dreamed untroubled dreams. Her parents had listened to her, and had agreed that no matter what, Hermione would be there when they spoke to whoever came to ask about Harry Potter.

She curled around her copy of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three in her sleep. She might not have gotten her school list yet, but she could recognize a pattern with ease, and picking up what was obviously going to be one of the next year's textbooks was a good move that cost her nothing. She hadn't been able to tell whether Intermediate Transfiguration or A Journeyman's Guide to Transfiguration would be the next Transfiguration textbook, though, so she'd left it alone.

Still, she hadn't memorized The Standard Book of Spells yet, so she felt all right about only having that one (and a pair of primers, one on Arthimancy and one on Ancient Runes) to go over until the book lists came.

Hermione Granger dreamed she was sitting in a library that belonged only to her, so nobody came in but her friends and the people that were nice to her. She drank hot chocolate and read her favorite books, waving occasionally at the strange people who wandered her dream library, like the pale boy in white clothing with an emerald pendant, or the golden-eyed man with the curly hair who sometimes carried an axe and sometimes carried a hammer.

No trouble stirred her from her sleep, and if one or two books contained slightly bloodier stories than they usually did in her library, Hermione Granger did not notice.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

There was a hidden room at Hogwarts. In truth, there were many, but this room was much beloved by the house elves, for it contained alternately a closet that never ran out of cleaning supplies or a room that was never completely tidied and clean. It was, essentially, paradise for the elves. However, when the elves weren't using it, and when nobody else had found it, the room spanned the size of the great hall and contained mountain upon mountain of junk, and trash, and hidden treasures.

In one of those piles, somewhere near the top, lay a seemingly delicate silver decoration. It was a tiara, or perhaps a crown, with a large jewel placed right in the center. When it was first made and enchanted, it could be placed on one's head, and the jewel would shine with a brilliant light. The wearer's thoughts would sing and dance freely, and inspiration would come in times of need.

Now, though, the jewel was shadowed and dark. There was more to these shadows than mere absence of light; they stretched and wormed their way down the silver setting for the jewel, expanding to cover the entire artifact in darkness. The shadows began to drip from the old headpiece, pooling on the objects below it and eating away at their substance. With each gram of material eaten away, the shadows became thicker.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

Arthur Weasley sat in his kitchen in the Burrow, sipping his tea. The twins were planning something, which was cause enough for worry, but some intuition told him there was more to it than that. Percy, Ron, and Ginny had seemed to be in on it too. Arthur wasn't sure what they were planning, but he was nervous, and not too proud to admit to it.

He thought about how, halfway through last summer, the youngest three boys had shown up one night with Harry Potter in tow. It troubled him more than he'd care to admit that Harry hadn't seemed concerned about his family's reaction to him running off in the middle of the night. Sipping his tea, Arthur wondered if his youngest were planning something similar for this summer.

If they were, the family would have to choose between a trip to Egypt and having Harry over, he was sure. Financial genius might allow them all to attend Hogwarts instead of, say Merlin's Academy for Boys, which was simply not as good a school. It would not allow them to support another child for the summer on no notice, not without using up the drawing they'd won.

The Burrow was quiet, filled with sleeping Weasleys as Arthur drank his tea in the kitchen, unaware that on the day the entire family had been gathered at Platform 9 3/4, an animagus had come to the house and prowled around. He was equally unaware that his son's pet rat currently scurried through the walls of his home, waiting for the Weasley patriarch to go to sleep so the rat could retrieve a hidden wand from its hiding place, so that it would be secure with him while the family vacationed in Egypt.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

Deep beneath London, in the tunnels of Gringotts, there lay a vault. Within that vault were mounds and shelves heaped with gold and jewels. In the very back of the vault there was a cup, cast in shadow. The shelves and floor about it had once been strewn with gold, but they were bare and cast in shadow themselves. The edge of the shadows expanded once more, and the gold that fell into the darkness began to turn black and crumble, eaten away until nothing remained.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

Hidden deep in the forests of Albania, a man worked busily. The man's father had rescued his own son from imprisonment, only to use his magic to enthrall his son and keep him as an even more wretched prisoner. The man's tongue darted from his mouth to wet his lips. It was hard to keep his hands steady and his body still as he worked, laying out lines of chalk and of salt in very precise patterns.

His wand followed the lines he drew carefully, filling them with magic for a singular purpose. In the center of the circle, a babe cried, fat tears rolling down its face, as a dark phantasm hovered above it. The forest was unnaturally silent, and the babe's cries carried through the woods, touching the trees and the leaves.

In the darkness, a great serpent slithered. Her venom began to burn in her mouth, and her body ached with hunger, though she had consumed two birds, a squirrel, and a polecat. She twisted about, her tongue flickering angrily as she searched for prey.

~~~~~ o.0.o ~~~~~

In a dark house in London, a decrepit elf shambled about, fighting a battle already lost against the dirt and the dank. He lurched through the hallways, obeying the whims of his mistress, who spoke sometimes from the portrait on the wall and sometimes in a quiet whisper in his head.

He rounded the corner into the kitchen, turning to enter the dark alcove he made his home, calling out, "Mistress has need of Kreacher here?" The shadows of his alcove coiled about him as he stepped in, and the held him tight.

Kreacher's body would never be found.


End file.
